


The Dragon Knight

by batneko



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batneko/pseuds/batneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Anthony Stark grew up with stories of Sir Steven, the Dragon Knight.  He never expected to meet the man, or worse, that he would be everything the stories said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Far North

The property given to the Stark family when they were made lords was far in the north, didn’t farm well, and was useful mostly for raising the large elk and moose that lived there.  The thick fur of the animals was also fairly popular for clothing, so Howard made the best of the situation.  When he (finally) passed away, his son did the same.

 

This far near the mountains wasn’t technically Tony’s land any more.  No one owned this, no one particularly wanted to, and if any people lived up here they clearly weren’t neighborly.

 

Rhodes had refused to come along, mostly out of hatred for the cold, but did correctly point out he had better things to do.  Virginia, likewise, had to run the estate while Tony wasn’t there.  And usually when he was there.  So it was just Tony and his wagon full of equipment that trundled up to the grim encampment.

 

“Is this all?” Tony pushed his hood back.  The cold wasn’t so bad at midday, but the air still stung his ears.

 

“All?” Lord Fury snapped.  “Son, we have been set up here for nearly a month waiting for you!”

 

“Now that just can’t be true.”  He scanned the area thoughtfully.  A handful of identical easily-assembled buildings, a few more tents, and one solid structure, what looked like an old house.  Its walls had been repaired here and there, and it was lit up inside, waiting for them.

 

“No… you’ve been here for at least a couple months already.  I’ve seen my share of barn-raisings, you can’t do them in the winter.  Half this place had to be built back in fall.”

 

“The locals,” Lord Fury gestured toward the buildings.  “Although for the record, they don’t get autumn up here, just less snow.  My people only got here four weeks ago, when we got the message.”

 

“What message?”

 

“Get unpacked, and I’ll show you.”

 

It was warm inside the house, but Fury left his thick gloves on and subtly flexed his fingers to work the ache out of the joints.  He was older than Tony, though not by much, and no one who looked at them would be able to tell.

 

“Is there are basement?” Tony asked.  He’d hefted one box off the wagon himself, before two people in a dozen layers of clothes apiece had rushed to help him with the rest.

 

“There is.”

 

“Show me.”

 

It was small, the walls clay, but there was plumbing and enough small windows to work with.

 

“I’ll have to check the ventilation before I get started on anything.”  Tony took a crowbar and attempted to slide open one of the windows.  “You, big guy, get that open for me.”

 

The taller of the two shrugged off his coat.  He’d abandoned his hat and scarf already, and he looked annoyingly familiar.  Even he had to stand on his toes to pry the window open, for which Tony was grateful.

 

“Gotta get some furniture down here.  I only brought one proper lab table, since I still don’t know what you need me for.”

 

“We don’t know either,” a familiar female voice said.  The shorter of the two assistants had shed her hood, and seeing her with the young man jogged Tony’s memory.

 

“Sir Samuel and Dame Natasha?”  Samuel looked startled that he knew his name, but it wasn’t a surprise.  They’d only met once before, at his knighting, and Samuel had still been badly injured at the time.  “The Falcon Knight and the Spider Knight?  Fury, what are you doing up here?”

 

He grinned.  “Come and see.”

 

Back into the cold they went, Tony re-bundling and secretly suspecting Fury had let him get comfortable on purpose.  Sam and Natasha took the rest of his supplies, and it was only Natasha’s presence that kept Tony from shouting instructions over his shoulder until they were out of sight.  He’d run into her before.  She knew what she was doing.

 

They trudged out into the snow and the sparse trees, where the road ran out and old rock slides made travel all but impossible.  There was nothing out here but hunters and other outdoorsy types.  As they got higher up the base of the mountain, Tony wondered if even they came this far north.

 

“You mentioned locals,” Tony panted, his breath steaming.  “What were they doing here?”

 

“Scouting this place for logging.”

 

Putting aside that there were hardly enough trees to make it worth it, Tony extrapolated from given information.  “And they found something?”

 

“They found something.”  The look on his face was so serious Tony wondered if he should have insisted on bringing the knights with them.

 

They came to what looked like nothing more than a lump of mountain, covered by the interminable snow.  But someone had broken through, revealing that the seemingly solid surface was really chunks of ice and stone.

 

“Is this… solid ice?” Tony laid his gloved hand on one of the pieces.  He could feel the cold even through the leather and fur.

 

Fury lit a lantern Tony hadn’t noticed him carrying and lifted it up.  Past the rocks was a small cave, barely more than a sheltered overhang really, every inch of it coated in ice.

 

“What the…”

 

“You know the story of the Dragon Knight, don’t you Stark?”

 

“Of course I do.  Better than anyone.  He…” There was a lump of ice far back in the cave, against the wall.  He’d taken it for a stalagmite, but the cave was too small for that.

 

“An ice dragon threatened the kingdom, brought on an early winter and ruined the harvest.”

 

“Stop,” Tony said quietly.  His heart would be pounding if he had one.  He didn’t want to look at that lump.  Didn’t want to see what caused a shape like that.

 

“Sir Steven, the Dragon Knight, who’d already driven off dozens of the kingdom’s enemies, went north to fight it.”

 

“I get it Fury, you can stop.”

 

“The dragon died.  Its body was found miles from here.  But Sir Steven never came back.”

 

Tony swallowed hard as Fury raised the lantern higher.  The ice was crystal clear, and the circular shield with the silver star was unmistakable.

 

“You found his body.”

 

“No, Stark, we found him.”

 

Tony shot a glare at the spymaster, and found a second lantern being proffered.  “If you’re making me look at a mummy I will be very displeased.”

 

“Would I make you come all the way up here for that?”

 

“Probably, if you thought it was worth it.”  He started squeezing through the hole, a corner of his breastplate scraping against the ice through his clothes.  He should have worn more over it.

 

“Would it be?  What can an alchemist do with the body of a legendary knight?”

 

“I don’t do that kind of alchemy,” Tony protested, half-heartedly, more heart than usual.  It was futile anyway.

 

The shape in the ice was clear now.  A man, down on one knee, the shield strapped to one arm and what looked like the hilt of a broken sword in his other hand.  As Tony, reluctantly, drew closer, he could see that the man wasn’t dressed for the weather.  He had most of a suit of armor on, but no helmet or gloves, and his breastplate was split open over his heart.

 

But his face, pale and colorless and admittedly warped by the ice, looked perfectly fine.  Not mummified, not frostbitten.  His ears were a perfect seashell curve, his lips uncracked.  Tony half-expected to see his eyes open, see him shatter the ice and stand up and shake it off, brushing snow from his sleeves.

 

“What do you think, Stark?”

 

“What do I think?”  Tony stood and surveyed the cave, thoughtful.  “I think the fight went on for a long time, days even.  I think Sir Steven must have been driven back here, especially after his armor was broken.  He was trapped in this hole, doomed, but the dragon made a mistake… or maybe Steven planned it out this way, and he stabbed it somewhere vulnerable.  His sword snapped off in the wound.  But the dragon lived long enough to manage one last blast of ice… You can see by the way he was kneeling that he knew it was coming.  And then the dragon limped off, made it a few miles, before sucumbing to the injury.”

 

“An interesting analysis, Stark, pretty much what we thought too.  But I meant about Sir Steven.”

 

Tony glanced at the frozen body.

 

“Do you think he can be revived?”

 

There was a long moment where Tony could do nothing but splutter.  “You- you’re talking about necromancy, not alchemy!  And necromancy doesn’t work like… like just hey, be alive again!  NotthatI’vedabbledinnecromancy,” he added quickly.

 

Fury rolled his one eye.  “You and I both know the Dragon Knight wasn’t exactly like other knights.  And an ice dragon’s breath can defy the laws of men.  I called you, not because you’re an alchemist, but because you’re the expert on Sir Steven.”

 

Tony felt his neck get hot.  It wasn’t his fault he’d grown up with stories about the man, that he understood better than anyone what a true hero he was, that he had his father’s collection of Sir Steven’s old armor and effects.  And okay, maybe Tony had put them on display in a few more rooms than he strictly needed to, but… “I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“Do you think there’s a chance, even a chance, that he could be thawed out and still be alive?”

 

Tony glanced at the lump again.  That face.  It was pale, but not blue, or black around the edges.  The barest hint of pink in his lips.  “There’s a chance.”

 

There was more than a chance, but that would mean revealing something not even his father had meant to share.

 

“We need the wagon and some picks,” Tony said, barely remembering not to make it an order.  Her Majesty’s Spymaster, Lord Nicholas Fury, didn’t take orders from anyone but the throne.  “And tell Dame Natasha I want my lab set up by nightfall.”

 

“I thought you said alchemy couldn’t revive the dead.”

 

“It can’t, but it can melt ice pretty fast if you know what you’re doing.  Which I do.”

 

Fury nodded sharply, and his face cracked into a frightening smile.  “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

Everyone knew the story of the Dragon Knight.  It was told to children, turned into songs and books and poems and plays.  Sir Steven had lived enough in less than three decades, to spawn seven more of entertainment.

 

The facts were these; Steven Rogers had shown up, more or less out of nowhere, and led a faction of the kingdom’s soldiers in a decisive victory against the wannabe empire to the east.  He was knighted, and after a few more such heroics, chosen the name the Dragon Knight.

 

After that he was a paragon of all that knighthood stood for.  He defeated hydras, bands of thieves, the risen dead.  For five years, he was a paragon.

 

And then the ice dragon came, and the early winter, and the fear and the hunger… The king wanted to send his whole army, but they were cold and hungry too.  Without permission, Sir Steven went alone.

 

And never returned.

 

The day he left was now celebrated as the Fast of Steven.  Meant to be a solemn remembrance of all fallen heroes, it turned into a wild party as soon as the sun went down and everyone could eat and drink again.

 

As a child, Tony had always been sent to bed as soon as dinner was over.  As an adult, he hadn’t spent that night alone in 32 years.

 

His dad told him stories, the few affectionate memories he had of the man being sitting at his feet and craning his neck up at the portrait while Howard talked of adventures and daring-do.

 

Then there were the bad times, when Tony was young and short and too smart for his own good.  Then Howard would mention Sir Steven as a role model, an ideal that Tony was nowhere close to.  It was like having this perfect older brother that you’d never met.

 

And then there was that time when Tony was about ten, when Howard had a bit too much to drink (but not enough to start yelling, or worse), and told Tony a story no one else knew.  One Steve had hidden.

 

One about a dragon.

 

And now here he was.  Sir Steven the Dragon Knight, perfect in every way, except for maybe being dead.  The lump of ice had been hard enough to chip out, much less lug back to the dilapidated house.  Tony confiscated a couple of sturdy tables, the biggest bed he could find, a few mismatched chairs, and Dame Natasha’s hematite necklace.  He hadn’t thought to bring any hematite, it was only an ingredient in one or two alchemical formulas, but of course one of those was what he needed now.

 

Natasha had actually given it up without prompting.  Those few weeks she’d posed as his assistant had been annoyingly productive, in retrospect.

 

An ice dragon’s freezing breath had properties that natural ice did not.  Sitting there for nearly seventy years would have made those properties weaker, but not brittle.  So hematite, sulfur of course, some iron shavings, and for that extra kick, Tony dropped a blood-stained scrap of cloth into the brazier.  He saved them from whenever he nicked himself shaving.  One of the many joys of being the Heartless Lord Stark.

 

The smoke from the mixture was acrid, choking, but Tony only opened one window to trap as much of it as possible.  He stood on a chair trying to breathe as much fresh freezing air as possible, only turning away now and then to check on the state of the ice.

 

Once the mixture was burned away, Tony was left with a limp, damp knight on a table in a pile of slush.  He opened a couple more windows to clear out the smell before he worked up the courage to investigate.

 

Sir Steven was slumped in an uncomfortable position, his armor holding him half-upright and his grip on his shield unbreakable.  His lips were pink, more pink than ever, and really it was unfair that a man should have a mouth like that.  He didn’t have that mouth in the portraits.

 

The jaw was right, though, the jaw you could break bricks on.  Tony indulged himself with a single-fingered-stroke, before pressing two of them underneath to feel for a pulse.

 

If Tony’d had one, it would have skipped several beats while he waited to feel something… anything… Something faint and fluttering, like the heartbeat of a frightened animal.  There.

 

He was alive.  Nearly seventy years after being encased in ice, and Sir Steven was still alive.

 

Dragon Knight indeed.

 

Tony laid him out on the commandeered bed.  He’d considered getting that armor off, but it was awkward on an unconscious person, and if Sir Steven woke up in the middle he would probably punch Tony’s head off.

 

If there was nothing to do but wait, Tony might have attempted it anyway.  But his alchemy supplies had to be gathered up, anything toxic carefully bottled and packed away.  And maybe the table didn’t need cleaning, and the floor was only damp, not dirty, but it wouldn’t do to make a bad impression, would it?

 

Even with all that, after two hours Sir Steven still hadn’t woken up, still hadn’t moved.  His breathing and pulse were steadily increasing, but they’d stabilized at standard sleep frequency.

 

Now there was nothing to do but wait.  To resist the temptation, Tony packed up the cleaning stuff and took it upstairs.  Dame Natasha was sitting on a windowsill, casually cleaning about a dozen knives.

 

“How’s it going?”

 

“It’s going,” Tony said, forcing casualness.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“Fine, fine.”  Tony looked around for a closet to put the mop in.  It had been in the basement to begin with, but there had to be a closet around here somewhere.

 

“Seriously, Stark.”

 

“I’m always fine, you know that.”

 

“Sure.”  She rolled her eyes.  “The Heartless Lord Stark, right?  Nothing touches you.”

 

“Nothing does.”  Tony grinned at her, and was about to ask if she’d seen a closet, when something thumped beneath their feet.

 

“You didn’t blow him up, did you?”  


“That’s nearly impossible.”

 

“How nearly?”

 

There was another thump, and a crash, and they both rushed down the rickety basement stairs, Tony armed with a mop and Natasha with her knives.

 

The chairs by the windows had been knocked over, but nothing else was out of place… except for the key feature of the room, Sir Steven.

 

“Where-” Tony started, before Natasha swore loudly.  A large figure darted from under the stairs and was halfway up before Tony realized it was Sir Steven himself.

 

“He was awake!” he exclaimed.  No wonder his pulse and breathing had been so steady.  “For- for twenty minutes at least!”

 

“He’s running,” Natasha reminded him.  

 

Tony opened his mouth to say something about the cold, how Sir Steven couldn’t make it that far, and realized who he was talking about.  “Go.”

 

She was already off.


	2. The New Day

Tony followed Dame Natasha up the stairs, outside, to where Sam and another man Tony hadn’t met yet had boxed Sir Steven in between Tony’s cart and the wall.  They were just in time to see Steven chuck his shield at them, bouncing between their skulls and back into his hand, before he vaulted over the cart and took off into the snow.

 

Tony sighed, and took a deep breath.

 

“Sir Steven!” Lord Fury had beaten him to it.  “We’re not your enemies!”

 

“I know an alchemy lab when I see one!” Sir Steven had the decency to reply.

 

“Lord Stark got you out of the ice!”

 

Tony could see him hesitate, and took that as his cue.  “My name is Tony Stark,” he said. “The second Lord Stark.  Sir Steven… you’ve been away for a long time...”  He dropped the mop, held his hands up to show they were empty, and walked out past the knights.

 

“How long?” Sir Steven asked, softly, almost too soft to be heard.

 

“68 years.”

 

He lowered his shield and shook his head.  “I thought… the armor looked different… But why should I believe you?”

 

“Because I’m Howard’s son.  You can tell, can’t you?”

 

Sir Steven looked at him, blue eyes so bright they nearly glowed.  “You do look like him.  Is Howard…”

 

“Gone.  For a while now.”

 

He shook his head again.  “How can I believe you?  How can I believe any of this?”

 

“You don’t have to believe anything.  But even you can’t make it all the way back to civilization in busted armor and no hat.”  Tony paused.  “Actually, you could, couldn’t you?”

 

Steven gave him an odd look.

 

“Listen.  The old Stark keep is a few miles south of here.  Technically I still own it, but it’s unused.  There’s a village nearby, you can find all the evidence you need.  You just have to trust me until...” Tony glanced up at the darkening sky, “tomorrow morning.”

 

The look got odder.

 

“You could kill me without trying, I have no reason to lie.”

 

Steven looked offended.  “I wouldn’t  kill  you!”

 

“Right, all settled then, let’s get inside and out of this ridiculous weather.”  He rubbed his hands together theatrically.  “We aren’t all cold-impervious supermen.”

 

Steven’s brow relaxed, ever-so-slightly.  “Very well.”

 

Once inside, Steven apologized awkwardly to the knights he’d hit (Tony was pretty sure the other one was the Hawk Knight.  What was with knights and bird titles?), and followed Tony back to the basement.

 

“So… you followed Howard’s path?” Sir Steven ran his fingers over the only proper lab table.

 

“I wouldn’t say followed.  I learned on my own.”  Tony shrugged.  “Alchemy’s a wide field.  My father specialized in weapons.  I specialize in alloys mostly, but I dabble a lot.”

 

“Dabble in necromancy?”

 

“No!” Tony rolled his eyes.  “Why does everyone- You weren’t dead, Sir Steven.  You can I both know a little thing like being frozen for seventy years couldn’t kill you.”

 

Steven frowned.  “Do we?”

 

“Don’t be coy.  Howard told me all about your uh… genesis.”

 

The frown deepened.  It would be cute if Tony didn’t feel so bad when it happened.  “He told you what, exactly?”

 

“He told me pieces.  When he was drunk.  And he... made sure I’ve never told anyone else.”  Tony turned to re-organize his ceramic bowls.  “It’s all right, Sir Steven.  I don’t blame you for something you didn’t choose.”

 

Steven sighed and sat down on the bed.  “Then Howard didn’t tell you everything.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I chose it.”  He bent over and started unbuckling his armor boots, avoiding Tony’s eyes, he was sure.

 

“Howard told me you were dying, and…”

 

“I’d always wanted to be a knight.  To protect people.”  Steven shrugged, his armor clanking.  “It was my only chance.”

 

Tony sat next to him.  “And for the next, what, seven years, you lived a lie?”

 

“I didn’t  lie .”

 

“But you let everyone think you were amazing all on your own.  You never told anyone, well, except Howard-”

 

“I didn’t even tell  him .”  Steven pulled off a boot with a wet  pop .  Tony was silently grateful the dampness seemed to be melted ice rather than sweat.  “He figured it out.  He said he’d studied it.”

 

“Of course he did.  An army of dragon-blooded soldiers would have earned him a goddamn earldom.”

 

Steven winced, whether at the statement of his condition or the profanity, Tony didn’t know.  “It isn’t that simple.  Dragon blood can kill you, if you take too much, if you aren’t strong enough, if the dragon is dead already.”

 

“The dragon has to be alive?” Tony hadn’t known that part either.  “Sir Steven, this is starting to sound like one of the stories they put down in the books about you.”

 

Steven looked at him for the first time in several minutes.  “They wrote books about me?”

 

Tony nearly laughed.  “You’re a  holiday .”

 

Steven’s face twisted in horror.  “I never wanted that.”

 

“Should have thought of that before becoming a martyr.”

 

He scowled.  It was still cute.  “I never wanted  that  either.”  Another boot came off, and Steven started on the thigh plates.  Cuisses, Tony thought they were called.  The trousers beneath were sodden and clinging to his skin.  “If… what you said is true.  If it’s been 68 years.  Then Howard is, was, the only person I know who might have still been alive.”

 

Oh.  “I’m sorry.”  It was all Tony could think of to say.  They sat in silence for a long moment.

 

Until Steven’s stomach growled loudly.

 

Tony blinked.  “Hey you know what? I’m hungry.”

 

Sir Steven  nearly  smiled.  “Me too.”

 

“I have absolutely no idea what food is around here, but let’s go eat all of it.”

 

“You’re joking, but that might literally happen.”

 

***

 

Lord Stark passed out after about four hours.  Steve tried to tell him to go to bed earlier, but he’d insisted he wasn’t tired, even as he was guzzling coffee.

 

He slumped over mid-anecdote onto the old battered table, like toy toppling over on a shelf.  Despite everything, Steve chuckled to himself.  Men of science were always the same.

 

Apparently Steve had been sleeping for a long time.  He felt bone-tired, but the idea of laying down was too much, for some reason.  Instead he picked up the young Lord Stark and carried him over to the cot.  He considered loosening the breastplate under Lord Stark’s clothes, but if he was wearing it there had to be a reason.

 

There would be hours before dawn yet.  Steve knew better than to dig through an alchemist’s bag, but there was nothing for him to do down here, so he borrowed Lord Stark’s coat and decided to go for a jog.  His blood ran too hot to need more than that.

 

Steve ran for hours.  His breath fogging in the cold, his footprints melting as he stepped over them again and again.  It was good, it was mindless, it was familiar.  He ran until a light came on in the house, and even then took a couple more laps around the encampment.

 

The lady knight, Dame Natasha, was seated on a rolled-up carpet drinking something that steamed.  “Couldn’t sleep?”

 

“Didn’t want to,” he admitted.  There hadn’t been many lady knights before he was frozen, but he’d never met one that didn’t work twice as hard as the men.

 

“I don’t think being frozen counts as sleep.  If anything, it would be hard on your body.”

 

Steve forced a smile.  “You think I’m rusty?”

 

One of the other knights, Steve wasn’t sure which one, wandered in with a hunk of bread and another mug.  “ I think someone ate all the eggs.”

 

Steve felt his neck heat up.  “Uh… Lord Stark’s idea.”

 

“I believe that,” Natasha hopped to her feet.  “You don’t know Stark, do you Clint?”

 

“I met him socially once.  He brought his own drinks and went home with twins.”

 

Steve couldn’t help frowning a little.  Natasha shot him a smirk.  “So Clint, how’s your head?”

 

Clint grinned too.  “Oh fine, that’s what helmets are for.”  He touched his temple and made a show of wincing.

 

“You knew what you were signing on for,” Steve said stiffly.

 

“Yes, fighting legendary dead heroes, that is what was on the page I signed.”  He took a swig of his drink.  “I’m being sarcastic.”

 

“You don’t seem awake.”

 

“I’m not,” Clint agreed, and drained his mug.  “Who made this?”

 

“I did,” Natasha said.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I know.”  She hopped up off the carpet and began kicking it until it unrolled.  “You know what always wakes you up?”

 

“Target practice, why?”

 

“Sparring.”

 

“With you?”

 

Natasha tossed her hair in Steve’s direction.

 

“With  him ?  You’re crazy.”  Clint gave a fake bark of laughter.

 

“You missed that conversation,” Steve said mildly.  “She thinks I’m rusty.”

 

Clint tossed his cup, underhand, slowly, and Steve caught it easily.  “Okay, I’m game.”

“Really.  You want to fight a legend?”

 

“Are you kidding?  I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

  
  
  


Two hours later, Steve was pinned under three knights with crumbs in his hair and jam on his shirt.  Sam had been the first to discover Steve twitched whenever someone shouted a warning.  He didn’t even bother protesting the dirty fighting; they were all knights, they knew chivalry meant nothing in real combat.

 

The noise must have woken Lord Stark, because he wandered upstairs with bedhead and bleary eyes, clutching his cloak shut.  He blinked vaguely at the struggling pile of bodies, and made his way to the kitchen.

 

When he wandered back, they had rolled up the carpet again and were cooling down with stretches.  He watched for a moment, cradling a cup of coffee.

 

“Who made this?”

 

“I did,” Natasha said.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Damn right.  Did you heat it up?”

 

“Eh,” Stark shrugged.  “Mostly.  Seriously, even lukewarm your coffee is amazing.  Come back and work for me.”

 

“And make you coffee?  I don’t think so.”

 

“How much do knights get paid?”

 

“It’s not about the money.”  She stood up and popped her back.  “I’d have to look at your ugly mug all day.”

 

Steve had to resist making an offended noise.  Tony, for his part, merely snorted and finished his coffee.

 

“You worked for him?” Sam asked, sounding confused.

 

“Not really,” Natasha said.  “It was for the crown.”

 

“Nobody trusts me,” Stark mock-pouted.

 

“The queen and Lord Fury trust you to be yourself.”  She smiled.  “So no, nobody trusts you.”

 

Stark snorted again.  “I am well known to be heartless.”  He nodded toward the kitchen.  “Sir Steven, could I speak with you for a moment?”

 

Not thinking anything of it, Steve followed him.  “Sure.”

 

Once there, Stark topped off his coffee and poured one for Steve.  It had been sitting on the stove, so it was the perfect temperature now.  Steve took a sip, and had to concentrate to keep his face blank.  Apparently the love-confession-inducing trick was simply to make it as strong as possible within human limits.

 

Seemingly very interested in his cup, and still clutching his cloak, Stark said, “Sir Steven, I understand why you borrowed my coat, but I’ll thank you not to do it again.”

 

The good feeling Steve had been cultivating all morning began to fade.  “I see.”

 

“You didn’t know.  But I don’t like having my clothes touched.  Just a personal quirk”  Stark gave a disarming smile.  Very disarming, but Steve knew that look.  He knew that tone.  He’d been spoken down to by enough nobles to be familiar with it.

 

Before he was a knight, he’d been as common as mud.  Legend aside, Stark knew that.  And he knew that Steve hadn’t attained his status under entirely above board circumstances.  Howard had been born common too, but  Anthony  Stark was a wealthy lord.  Of course he wouldn’t be the same.  Of course.

 

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Stark,” Steve said, not even trying not to sound stiff.  “Shall I retrieve it for you?”

 

“No, you might as well keep it, it’ll be cold on the road.”

 

“How far to Ho- your keep?”

 

“About half a day.”

 

“I’ll tell the others to get ready.”

 

“All friends already?” Stark smiled, seemingly a genuine one this time.

 

“We’re knights.  That hasn’t changed much.”  Steve couldn’t keep the hesitation out of his voice.  “I have no idea what the rest of the world will be like.”

 

“You’re welcome to stay at the keep for as long as you want.  It hasn’t changed much either, unless some of it has fallen down.”

 

“I’ll… consider it.”  He didn’t want Stark’s charity.  He wasn’t too proud to deny help he actually needed, but Steve had the skills now to make it on his own.

 

They were on the road within the hour.  Dame Natasha and another lady knight named Hill stayed behind to pack things up (Steve couldn’t help but wonder at the fairness of leaving the women to the boring task, but he had to admit, both of them seemed far more practical-minded than the men present), while everyone else piled into a couple carts and got moving.

 

Steve chose to sit with the other knights, leaving Stark in his cart alone.  He tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed the look on his face.

  
About half a day, then he’d have to deal with him.  And decide if he could trust him.


End file.
